


Silence is Golden, but my Tongue is Silver

by Windblade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cybertron, Cybertronian, Gen, Tarn - Freeform, Towards Peace, Vos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windblade/pseuds/Windblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amongst the rubble of the fallen Vos, a life long comrade is met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence is Golden, but my Tongue is Silver

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't particularly a pairing, just an interpretation of how Vos and Tarn may have met one another. In no way a work of fact. I own nothing but the writing. The title refers to how we can assume Vos does not speak often, and Tarn has quite the way with words. They create a balance.

He picked through the debris and the rubble. That was all that was left of this once glorious, prosperous city. He used to come to the library archives here. Some of the oldest texts had been kept within those elegant walls. But now, they were lost. Like the rest of this city. All that remained, were ashes and still smoking structures. Most who lived here were now blended into the background; charred and utterly wrecked. It would be a miracle if any life had survived the attacks.

As it was, he believed he was the only current occupant. His optics idly scanned the surroundings he found himself in until they came to a rest on a small, burnt object. Clawed and spindly digits reached down to pick it up, the familiar shape of a data pad registering to him. It was, rather surprisingly, still functional, if a bit roughed up and blurry to read. He didn’t recognize these glyphs, going through his processor for any instance where he might’ve seen them. When nothing was found, he felt a bit bemused. That wasn’t right; the date on the pad was fairly recent. Surely it’s information was already updated and legible. Of course, there wasn’t anyone around he could ask. Even if no one could understand him.

Taking the pad, his pedes carried him over to a large hunk of metal that had once been a door to this structure. His pointer digit traced over the dimly lit glass, just barely brushing the tip of his claw along the cracked surface. Though half of the glass was webbed with cracks, the area that was still smooth wasn’t any help to him. The sounds of metal and crisped remains crunching underneath his steps, echoed in his audio receptors. It was almost a mournful sound. Almost. The lone mech folded himself down to sit on the metal chunk, one leg pulled up closer to his chest while the other stayed firm on the ground. Propping the arm holding the pad up on the leg closest to his chassis, he set about attempting to decipher the data pad. For lack of anything better to do. Optics intent, nothing particular interesting seemed to pop out at him from whatever had been uploaded onto this particular pad. There _may_ of been something worth interest there, but it didn’t make a difference to him as he couldn’t understand. It was somewhat frustrating.

And so he sat there for many hours, or so it seemed, just scrolling through the information on the data pad. It’s energy source was almost drained, he thought with some disappointment. And he still hadn’t learned anything from it. A string of syllables and chirps not heard for many, many years slid out from behind the mouth plate that covered a good portion of his face. A language long thought dead. And, for all he knew, maybe it was now. He had spent most of his functioning existence not speaking but to a few.

_"It’s called Neocybex; it’s the modern form of Cybertronian used these days."_ A familiar set of clicks and chirps came from an unfamiliar voice somewhere behind him. His helm whipped around to find the source, his frame automatically sliding down and up from the hunk of metal he had stationed himself at. A low chuckle soon followed.

_"That there in your servo, is a complete passage from Towards Peace; a work from a great mech known as Lord Megatron. Perhaps, you’ve heard of him..?"_

A slow nod was the reply from the silent mech, crimson optics narrowed with wary caution, and possibly, a bit of interest. This one…was speaking Primal Vernacular. Apparently, his surprise was taken note of by his current companion, for the low chuckle had melted into a deep, purring laugh.

_"Surprised I can understand your mumblings? I can, however unfortunately, not many others are able to. A shame, really. If you don’t mind, I can read a part of that speech for you..? I would not pass a chance to speak the words of our greatest Lord and leader, Megatron. You know, his cause is truly a worthy one. One that I take pride in carrying out. Only someone with a true sense of Justice could do what he does…"_

Was this mech…rambling? At least he understood now, the smaller mech thought dryly. In that time, he had examined the impressive frame and size of his current company. He knew he wasn’t so much smaller in size than an average adult of his kind. It was apparent, however, that the vehicle this mech took on, was formidable. Though he lacked a true vehicle form, his own alternative mode enhanced his considerable shooting abilities. Thinking now would be a good time as any to speak, the slightly raspy voice told any who heard it, that it was not often heard at all. _"Who are you?"_

_"Ah yes, forgive my manners. You may call me Tarn."_ Spoken clearly, with obvious pride and a spot of elegance. Not often found now a days. _"And what do I address you as?"_

Crimson optics shifted to glance around the destruction of this former city, an almost thoughtful look entering them before they hardened and brightened. A slow clicking hiss.

_"Vooossss…"_


End file.
